Baker - Paradise Alley
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- Book:Paradise Alley
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- Publisher:HarperCollins e-Books
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- Year:2014
- City:New York (N.Y.);New York (State);New York;Place of publication not identified
- Rating:4 / 5
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A Novel
I am a rambling Irishman
Ruth leaned out the door as far as she dared...
The boy grins up at me from the gutter...
I am a connoisseur of hangovers.
The block was nearly silent.
The soft, pink nose nuzzled his cheek...
In New York the machines dont work and...
Seven-thirty, and I reach the Tribune building...
When her turn finally came, Ruth drew...
I was born in the burren, where its said theres...
She walked out of the scalp, expecting to fall...
He walked up past the jewelers and...
I abandon our abandoned City Hall, cutting around...
Oh, my girl
She watched him go, through the shutters, running...
Is he gone, then?
That first night they had sat behind the wall...
What good are ye? What good are ye to me, then?
The pretty little brass clock on Deirdres mantel...
Ruth was gone.
He couldnt get his mind past how...
Dolan could hear the screams of the animals...
They are not a mobnot yet.
And so I am, back here on the front...
Something had to be done, that much was...
They are coming!
When she got back Milton had the other children...
He liked to leave for work early in the morning.
By the time he made it to the Colored Orphans...
He paced up and down the hall of the orphanage.
King Mob.
Theyre here, he told the Misses.
Noon. She was sure now, he wasnt coming.
I went with him.
In the hold everything was black.
She lay in the hospital bed, falling in and out of fever.
He did not know why he had hit the man, except...
The City lies split open on its back, like...
She could hear the vesper bell ringing at...
After that she had considered whether to kill Johnny...
She started awake, still not fully aware that she had dozed.
Nightand through the ruptured City all sorts of...
By the time I make my way back to the...
The rain fell like a barrage, rattling like grapeshot...
They finished cleaning their rifles in the...
She had seen from the start that she could...
She went on back at last with the wet cloth...
Our holy and beautiful house...
It is hot again.
There is a shout from outside, then the sound...
She watched him go, out into the street...
She awoke slowly, unsure of where she was at first.
That was the best time between them, those next...
She rattled the key noisily in the back door...
The whole Citys on fire, thats what I hear.
A funeral train reels its way down the Bowery.
We should have seen the ambush coming.
Maddy tried to sit as still as she could against...
All that day they heard the wild, animal...
They sat in the cellar of the precinct house, trying...
In the summers he had made money killing dogs.
He would have liked to sit down, and rest...
He had lain out on the frozen mud for a day...
For the rest of the afternoon and evening...
Up on the roof, she stroked Maddys hair...
It was cooler on the roof.
He stood out in the street, helpless.
Crouching behind the street-cleaning machine, I loosen...
It must have been Ruth who had sold him. His wife.
It is a kingly thing...
The third day. Eight in the morning.
They arrived just before dawn and mustered...
He had to get back.
Theyre coming! Theyre coming!
He could see the water opening out ahead of him.
He saw them the moment he came on the block.
He looked worse than ever, she...
Her brothers fists threw her back across...
He stared down at the wreckage of the box, where...
She lies out on the street, barely alive.
He limped on up the block to his house.
He was walking down a dark street, looking for...
Ruth had lain in the bed in Deirdres back room...
He is coming.
Everything in black.
He trudged downtown in the slow parade, hoping...
Ruth Dove, a ragpicker, from Paradise Alley, in the Fourth Ward of New York City
Billy Dove, her husband, a shipbuilder and escaped slave
Dangerous Johnny Dolan, Ruths former lover, and a criminal
Deirdre Dolan OKane, Johnnys older sister, and a former domestic
Tom OKane, Deirdres husband, and a private in the Fighting 69th
Maddy Boyle, a hot-corn girl and prostitute
Herbert Willis Robinson, her lover, and a writer for the New York Tribune
Finn McCool, a Tammany ward heeler, and assistant foreman of the Black Joke Volunteer Fire Company
GeorgeSnatchemLeese, a bloodsucker
Black Dan Conaway Richard Feeley John J. Sullivan | } | soldiers of the Fighting 69th |
Horace Greeley, editor and publisher of the New York Tribune
Henry Raymond, editor and publisher of the New York Times
Monday
July 13, 1863
I am a rambling Irishman
Ulster I was born in
And manys the pleasant
day I spent
Round the banks
of sweet Lough Erne
But to be poor I could
not endure
Like others of my station
To Amerikay
I sailed away
And left this Irish nation....
THE RAMBLING IRISHMAN
Traditional
He is coming.
Ruth leaned out the door as far as she dared, peering down Paradise Alley to the west and the south. Past the other narrow brick and wood houses along Cherry Street, slouching against each other for support. The grey mounds of ashes and bones, oyster shells and cabbage leaves and dead cats growing higher every day since the street cleaners had gone out.
Fire bells were already ringing off in the Sixth Ward, somewhere near the Five Points. The air thick with dust and ash and dried horse droppings, the sulfurous emissions of the gasworks along the river, and the rendering plants and the hide-curing plants. It was not yet six in the morning but she could feel the thin linen of her dress sticking to the soft of her back.
The good Lord, in all His mercy, must be readyin us for Hell
She searched the horizon for any sign of relief. Their weather came from the west, the slate-grey, fecund clouds riding in over the Hudson. That was how she expected him to come, too, fierce and implacable as a summer storm. His rage breaking over them all.
He is coming
But there was no storm just yet. The sky was still a dull, jaundiced color, the blue tattered and wearing away at the edges. She ventured a step out into the street, looking hard, all the way downtown, past the church steeples and the block-shaped warehouses, the dense thicket of masts around lower Manhattan.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual shapeless forms lying motionless in the doorways. A ragged child with a stick, a few dogs. A fruit peddler with his bright yellow barrow. His wares, scavenged from the barges over on the West Side, already pungent and overripe.
Nothing coming. But then, it wasnt likely
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